Salt & Suede: Quiet Abundance
It was suede adorned with fringe and brass hardware. Unsurprisingly, I contemplated keeping it, but the entrepreneurial spirit that only smoldered within me knew better than to keep yet another jacket for myself. I watched her slip her arms into each sleeve, held my breath as her fingers appeared, one cuff at a time. She was bright and her energy memorable, a lovely contrast to the black leather and brushed metal. She was kind, and authentically so. Enough to earn a follow back on IG, business account and all.
Sighs in relief What a magical moment when vintage finds its “perfect fit.”
I miss those moments and the shared experience they create, the connection with others and, eventually, with myself. They call to me when I reflect on these loose ends of my ambition. Here, at the end of my twenties, my dreams and perceptions of self came and went; appearing, dissolving, and reforming.
I’d stumble upon her posts, finding comfort in her candor. Her transparency was inspiring and the authenticity of her online presence, refreshing. It’d be some three years until I'd see her again, and this time, she’d have something for me. Something far more valuable than a vintage jacket.
The end of the year was a great mess of emotions, most of them inflated by ambiguity and change—matters I’ve always struggled with. Overwhelmed, I assuaged my anxiety with a vicious cycle of TikTok and IG. Hours deep into my doomscroll, I landed on her latest post. I couldn’t describe the images to save my life but I know it made me feel comforted.
I DM’d her immediately.
I’m no stranger to oversharing online, duh, so you know it was an absolute trauma dump. But against all odds, she agreed to grab coffee. Pity? Curiosity? I’d soon find out.
A few months later, I found myself in Highland Park, starting the year waiting for a woman I’d essentially met online. I grabbed a table by the window, trying to remember what she looked like. I pulled up her page for reference because awkwardly approaching some random wasn't the move. Just as I set my phone down, she was there, arms wide open. Some people lose their luster when they step out from behind a screen, but she was even more luminous in high def.
We did the chitchatting over breakfast, the small talk I usually loathe, but this was a real investment. I listened to her attentively, learning much more than I did from her online stories. I’ve since reflected on everything she shared and honestly…not a single thing she said to me was particularly life shattering. Reach out, take up space, embrace discomfort, I’d heard it all before. So, how did she manage to ignite such a fire in me that remains ablaze? She didn’t give me the key to immediate success. She didn’t give me the cure to imposter syndrome, and she didn’t hand me a small loan of a million dollars. But she listened to me. She made me feel valued. I mean, she drove the distance and paid for parking just to speak with me—That’s next level in LA btw.
I hadn’t been granted this much grace in a long time. Not from myself, let alone someone I admired online. She poured into me, and simply being in her presence felt like more than I’d received in ages. Before long, I found myself in the company of a stranger turned friend, feeling deeply uplifted.
Halfway through our bagel sandwiches, she excused herself to order a coffee. Before starting my second half, I reached into my bag for my personal reserve of Maldon Sea Salt. Gorgeous as it was, the sandwich was in desperate need of a little something. More-than-a-pinch, and it was perfect.
She returned, coffee in hand, and sat before her sandwich, “It could use some salt.” Mouth full of a well-seasoned bite, I smiled and pushed my salt tin toward her. Laughing at our shared critique, I sat there feeling more than satisfied. I’d spent so much time looking for some rare, secret ingredient to magically make life better, easier, perfect. But as we sat there, enhancing our identical meals with something I already carried in my purse, I realized I wasn’t so screwed as I thought.
For the first time, I didn’t feel all that different from someone who actually had their shit together.
Today, I’m a few months away from thirty, feeling grateful and as well-equipped as I can be for the great unknown. I’ve fumbled far too many opportunities while waiting for some internal green light, so I’ve sworn off the useless perceptions I’ve been force-feeding myself. They don’t provide sustenance. I’m officially fasting from the drama and feasting on salt.
Jillian, if you’re reading this, you’re a gem whose authenticity and generosity continue to inspire me. Your willingness to meet me—a sobby zillennial in your DMs—and share your precious time and energy is a quiet reminder that kindness and excellence are readily available for those who remember to check their purse.
To literally anyone, may this find you better than your boss’s email at 4:45pm on a Thursday. A reminder that you already have everything you need to be anything you want.
